


The Best Policy

by metonomia



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Ghost (ASoIAF) is a Good Boy, Jon Snow Knows Something, Political Alliances, Sansa Stark is Queen in the North
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-01
Updated: 2019-09-01
Packaged: 2020-10-04 14:11:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20472353
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metonomia/pseuds/metonomia
Summary: Jon is too honest, Susan struggles with it, and Ghost ships them.





	The Best Policy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Snacky](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snacky/gifts).

> For Snacky, Susan Pevensie/Jon Snow. <3

The trouble with Jon Snow, Queen Susan of Narnia had decided by the time they’d followed the man North, beyond Peter’s furthest campaigns, toward a new land that shook all the Four’s knowledge of their world, was that he just refused categorization. Not really Westerosi, as he’d made clear when laying out his Queen in the North’s diplomatic inquiry. Not truly of these Free Folk who filled out the bulk of his force, though anyone could see how comfortable he was with them. Not a knight or a lord, though he seemed to have rights to a variety of titles, and even sworn only loosely to his Queen. Yet he lived by some precise personal code of honor that set him apart from all his company - and, she couldn’t help grumbling about the lack of courtesy still, apparently kept him from offering proper obeisance to the rulers from whom he sought aid.

Then there was the matter of his Wolf. Not a Wolf, exactly, and that was just the thing that kept Susan’s wary interest. Ghost was enormous, a match for any Talking Wolf of Narnia, and clearly beyond animal intelligence. Jon Snow’s command of the animal didn’t seem to be witchcraft, and the wolf - direwolf, so grim a name - could make itself understood to any human, it seemed, but through body language, not speech. No, Ghost did not Talk, and Susan was certain that on this point, at least, she was not being lied to. In fact, she did not think Jon Snow was lying about anything, and that was the crux of the whole contradictory bother - Jon Snow appeared by all her own and her advisors’ judgement, to be an appallingly honest person. Susan would have been rather comforted by a few lies or double meanings between potential allies.

Even now, she heard him talking with Peter on the other side of their campfire.

“The Kingdom of the North just can’t take another of these giant raids, and we can’t expect reinforcements of any kind from them. They’re stuck between trade agreements with the Six Kingdoms, and your Ettins are so different to the giants we’ve seen before. Their cruelty - just their numbers, really…” 

He trailed off and Susan felt some of her prickliness fade. She was being too wary, as always. Better the unknown supplicant bringing his fears to them than, say, crown princes bearing golden gifts. Of course Jon Snow was too honest. He clearly felt he had nothing to lose.

“Well, he doesn’t,” Peter said later as the two of them walked the camp perimeter to confer in relative privacy. “I was so pleased we seemed to have beaten the Ettins back. But now I feel rather awfully that they just turned away from _ our _ North.”

Susan squeezed his arm in sympathy. “We truly couldn’t have known there was another continent, somehow south of our north. I swear it feels strangely familiar - more sides to a world - but we’ve all seen the proofs that the world is flat.”

“I thought it felt right somehow, too,” Peter said. “Oh well, that’s a problem for a day we’re not freezing our asses off in the snow about to battle the giants we thought we’d beaten to save our new allies we know almost nothing about.”

“Don’t be so cynical, Peter,” Susan laughed, “I know quite a bit about them, now, and we’ll only learn more as we beat north. Or, south.”

They turned back toward camp, and soon red eyes in the lamplight heralded Jon Snow and his Ghost.

“King Peter, your generals have finished their initial meeting with my scouts.”

“Excellent,” Peter said, fists clenching in anticipation. “Off I go. Su, will you join?”

She waved him on, thinking it was about time she sought out _ her _ scouts, but Jon’s quiet voice stopped her.

“Queen Susan, may I have a word?”

“Aren’t you wanted in the war council, Lord Snow?” she asked, noting that at least one of the rumors about his parentage and standing must be true as he flinched ever so slightly at the title. _ Cruel, Susan, _ she told herself. Her spies had learned enough in a relatively short time to fill in what the man himself had shared. But she needed him pinned down before they fought together, safely understood before it all came down to treaties. So, she prodded, and mostly forgave herself for it.

“They can start without me,” he said, perfectly in control of himself. “I wanted to ask a favor, actually, of you and your...messengers.”

“Oh?” He was observant. And did, it seemed, have the ability to be somewhat circumspect, if he understood the type of messengers Susan employed.

“Our ravens fly too predictably, and we’re far away in new territory. We’ve almost none left and the giants have started picking them off. I hoped some of your Birds would be able to get a message through to the Queen in the North.”

“Your cousin,” she needled casually.

“More like my sister, Your Majesty,” he said, smiling grimly and meeting her eyes, letting her see all his worry. Not false, not even manipulative; even her wary mind couldn't doubt him. “We’ve not been able to get anything through in half a year at least. She likely assumes we’re all dead and the giants are coming unchecked at the thaw.”

Susan was caught off-guard by a surge of emotion, memories of her first years as a queen, all the times she’d carried on with one or all of her siblings off in danger. Sitting in a castle wracked with anger and guilt while her brother and sister and their allies fought for her honor. Berating herself for being too proud, too trusting - too trusting of her own judgment. She had to stop herself from looking to Peter’s war-tent, sharply grateful to be here, now, in the action. She suddenly doubted her weeks of tactical unfriendliness. What need to challenge and test this man who asked openly for help to protect his people?

Jon Snow resolved clearly before her into a man protecting his family, willing to give all of himself, and Susan trusted that, and wanted to help him.

“We can help with that,” she said, smiling at him for the first time, smiling wider as his open face registered surprise and relief. “I’m sorry your sister should have been worrying. My captain will place several messengers at your disposal. Tell your queen I look forward to meeting her when we have won.”

\-----

Jon-in-Ghost finished a lap scouting around the final battlefield, ensuring it was final. They climbed a small ridge and sat, panting, snow melting beneath their hot fur, surveying the Narnian/Northern company as it assembled in weary victory. The Ettins were routed, _the last of the Giants_ Jon thought tiredly. With a jolt that nearly shook him from Ghost's mind, he realized just how far south of the Wall-that-was this battle had taken them. Back to Winterfell, then, sooner rather than later, and he didn't know if he was more relieved to be done with the fighting or unready to step back into Sansa's court.

Ghost growled slightly, of his own accord, and Jon shifted most of his consciousness back into his own body, tucked in a small cave nearby. "I know," he murmured, "not a good use of your time." In answer, the direwolf rose with a brief shake, scratched a healing cut on his site, and trotted back toward Jon's cave. _Time to move on,_ he let Jon know.

Time for a break from warging, Jon thought as he stretched and headed back toward the battlefield. Time to be human only again, for a while. Hopefully for a long while, if only they could have peace for more than a season. He rounded the few tents that had already been set up for surgeons and pulled up short. The Narnian king and queen stood there, greeting the wounded as they trickled in, clasping hands, offering encouragement and thanks. Good people, he thought now more than ever. Rare luck, in his experience, to find such strength and goodness at once.

Susan glanced up and met his eyes with a haggard smile, and raised one hand in a weary wave. He was struck, not for the first time, and he doubted for the last, by her ability to shift from one persona to another, the way she nodded so regally to her approaching general a moment after offering him such frank exhaustion. It felt real, though he still struggled to read this proud and private queen. She kept matters close, but somehow he looked forward to having the time and peace to learn how to read her, to see more of her sudden and sharp self.

\-----

Susan sat breathing in the crisp, flower-bathed spring air that floated over Winterfell’s walls, relaxing muscles still too used to hard riding, hard fighting, and little sleep. Someone approached, and she considered just ignoring them. There were no treaty meetings this morning, and she deserved a break from the negotiations and planning. When the footsteps broke off into a whine, though, she smiled and opened her eyes.

Ghost whined again and stamped his foot, panting hopefully. His tail wagged hard as he danced a few steps around her. She laughed to see him act the puppy, but rose when he continued to bark and prance. 

“Alright, what do you want?” The wolf’s instincts had been proven to her over and over that winter, and if he clearly wasn’t upset now, she still wasn’t going to ignore the animal who had personally saved her life and her brother’s. “Do you want a treat? I already gave you my bacon this morning…” The entered the keep and wove up several stairs, until Susan was thoroughly confused.

“Only for you do I go anywhere without verbal explanation,” she said fondly as Ghost finally paused by a door. It was ajar, so she knocked and opened it, but neither she nor the room’s occupant, a half-dressed Jon Snow, was prepared for Ghost to her her inside, dart out, and close the door on them.

Susan blushed and immediately turned to flee, but found the door effectively jammed by, she suspected, a couple hundred pounds of direwolf. She wrung her hands, staring at the door, trying to master her surprise, embarrassment, and lingering Rabadash-shaped fear, before turning back to Jon.

“I’m going to skin that mutt,” he growled as he attempted to wrestle a shirt on. From the other side of the door, a significantly more impressive growl told them what Ghost thought he could do with that idea.

“Does your wolf often lock women into your room?” Susan asked lightly. Jon was bright red and clearly too startled for her to be afraid. They’d fought giants together, she reminded herself. She trusted him, he’d proven worthy of that trust, and they were certainly friends. In fact, a very different sort of nervousness had started fluttering in her stomach, as he gave up on the shirt he’d torn in his surprise and stood facing her.

“I’m sorry,” he said and laughed only a little awkwardly. “No, he’s never done this before. And _ won’t again _!” He raised his voice on the last and in the silence that followed they heard a loud huffing sigh.

“Well he’s clearly not ready to let us out of here,” Susan said. “And we both know a marriage alliance has been proposed,” she smiled, calm and confident as he reddened again, “and I’ve learned so much about you from my _ messengers _, and even from your sister…” He looked ready to melt through the floor, and while she personally thought this sort of teasing was much kinder than the iciness she’d presented to him when he arrived in Narnia, he was clearly in anguish. Honesty, then.

“Look, Jon, I’m not sure if you know that I proposed the marriage.” He had not known, by the path his expression took from embarrassed to shocked.

“We need a royal marriage in Narnia, and I need to be the one who marries.”

“Because of the prince who tried to kidnap you?” Susan looked at him sharply, taken aback. “You’re not the only one with spies, Susan,” he said.

“Jon Snow, you do not have spies.” He laughed at her directness, which was good, because she was regretting this new policy of openness, but Jon’s laugh was rare and distractingly nice.

“I don’t, but Sansa does, and the moment your first Raven got through with my message, she started sending people toward Narnia.”

“Maybe I should marry your sister instead of you,” Susan muttered, half annoyed and fully impressed. Jon turned serious again, and sat down on the nearest surface, gesturing for her to join him. It was his bed, but they were already trapped in a bedroom by a wolf, and she’d brought up marriage, so Susan couldn’t really care.

“I don’t think you should feel guilty about this Calormene,” he said. Susan sighed.

“It’s not guilt, exactly, not anymore. But I do think it’s my responsibility to Narnia to secure a successful royal marriage.” She reached for his hand, and was surprised he let her take it. “I’d like it to be with you.” 

Jon looked at her, and she willed her emotions, calculated and new as they were, to be as clear to him as his always were to her. It must have worked, because he kissed her, and she felt something fearful and proud inside her heart melt away, and she decided that, at least with Jon Snow, honesty was here to stay.


End file.
